One Flight of Freedom
The crescent moon hung low in the sky, casting a gentle light on the many towers of Hogwarts. The castle was finally quiet; students had fallen asleep with tears staining their cheeks. Minerva McGonagall had wearily closed her eyes to the pain of the day. Midnight detentions in the dungeons were over and the Carrows had chuckled their evil way to their beds.
In the depths of the headmaster's office, where no moonlight could reach, one corner seemed blacker than the rest. Then there was a cough, a slight hint of movement, which indicated that the headmaster had not gone to bed, that he was still awake at three in the morning.
Severus Snape moved slowly to the window. Peering out over the deserted Hogwarts grounds he heaved a sigh. The terrific amount of strain he was under was only shown by the tight grip he had on his wand. If only there was some way for him to escape, to avoid the fate he was almost certain awaited him. He glanced down at his wand, as if surprised to see it there. He couldn't remember the last time he hadn't been holding it.
He sighed again. A look of deep sorrow was etched on his face; the face he had to hide from everybody he cared about.
He thought: maybe tonight I will try it. For all the pain Voldemort had inflicted on him, his reward was this one spell. A spell that Voldemort had entrusted him, and only him, with. He had never tried it, but he knew he ought to because he didn't want to use it for the first time in a dire situation. On the other hand, if it didn't work then maybe… that would be okay as well.
He moved closer to the window and gently eased it open as far as it would go. It wasn't a large window, but Severus was a shadow of the man he used to be. Awkwardly, he scrambled onto the window ledge, crouching so that he could fit his entire body in the gap. Silently he recited the words that Voldemort had taught him. Then he launched himself out into the night sky.
Plummeting to the ground, cloak flapping violently behind him, he thought: I should end it. Just go now. It would be… peaceful.
And then an image of Lily filled his mind, shrieking at him and he realised that he couldn't abandon Harry, not yet. And he flicked his wand and thought the words and stopped.
He hung oddly in the air, half way down the tower, completely horizontal, as though time had been frozen. He kicked his legs experimentally and found that the movement propelled him forwards. He felt a fool. Swinging his arms vigorously he managed to get himself vertical and felt slightly more at ease. It was an odd sensation; not like being on a broom at all. He was simply standing on nothing.
Leaning forward he found that he could move himself just by thinking about it. He glanced back at the castle, the windows were still dark and there was little chance that anybody would be able to spot him if they looked out; black clothes in a dark night.
He floated upwards. An entire night open to him, a night of freedom. In the distance he could see the odd light twinkling in Hogsmeade, but he didn't want to head that way. Tonight was a night of memory.
He moved away from the castle, cautiously at first and then picking up speed. The wind rushed past, making his hair fly out and his cloak flutter ominously. This incredible feeling of freedom, of invincibility. Severus had spent so long chained to duty and fate. He wanted to shout and laugh. Instead he turned a cartwheel in mid air.
The castle was a long way behind him now and the moonlight was stronger, casting a pale glow on the lake that he was fast approaching. It was down there, right there… He slowed down, swung his way into a tree, grasped a branch hard and released the spell. An incongruous sight; Severus Snape perched in a tree, but there was nobody there to laugh.
Below this tree, he had called Lily a mudblood and set their lives on the awful spiral of death and sorrow.
Below this tree, James Potter had used his own spells against him.
Below this tree, he had tried to save James and Lily's son from a werewolf.
He wondered whether he would die here too.
With a heave and a groan for feeling so old he pulled himself to the top of the tree. Leaves brushed his face and twigs caught in his robe but he didn't care tonight. He reached the last branches that could support him and leant out, pushing aside the smaller branches so that he could look back at the castle. Home. Hogwarts had always been that for him. It had been the first place where he had felt he had belonged, been cared for, had learnt what love really was. The tall towers to the dungeons; this was where he ought to be. He could see the Astronomy tower where he had killed Dumbledore. One of the blackest moments in a life filled with sadness. But he would be re-united with Dumbledore soon, he knew, he understood that as surely as Harry was marching towards his death, he was walking towards his own.
He closed his eyes and conjured an image of Lily. Lily as the ten-year old he had first met, before she had understood what magic really was, before he had fallen in love with her and called her a mudblood and she had married his worst enemy.
He'd be with her soon. And in the meantime, he needed to find Harry Potter and give him the information he needed… to die. One silent tear ran down his cheek. He had to believe that Dumbledore had a plan.
He scrambled back down the tree, jumping from the final branch and landing with a thud on the damp grass. He wondered what would happen when it was all over. He had to believe that Harry and the Order would triumph, that the years of struggle wouldn't be in vain.
He cast the spell again, jumped and flew. Skimming low over the lake, flying high over the forbidden forest. He would treasure this memory, of the wind in his hair and the cool smell of a spring night. There was smoke rising from Hagrid's hut and he veered away as Fang howled into the night. He circled the lake again and stopped over Dumbledore's tomb. The beautiful white tomb for the only Headmaster to be buried on school ground. He wondered where he would be buried. An unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere probably.
He flew on.
For thirty years, this had been his home. There were memories in every corner of the grounds and every nook of the castle. He didn't notice his tears.
The sky grew pink and he knew he had to return. He sped round the castle, keeping close to the walls and away from the windows. Reaching his own he flew in, landing with a light touch by his desk.
Dumbledore's portrait looked at him quizzically. "Enjoying the night air, Severus?"
He did not respond.
XOXOX
The wound on his neck was gaping, there was blood everywhere. Potter had his memories and as his eyes fixed on the green ones in front of him he remembered the wind in his hair and the scent of freedom and he closed his eyes and died.
XOXOX
A/N. I don't own Harry Potter.
This one-shot is based on my thought that Snape would have tried out Voldemort's flying spell (before he jumps out of the window in the duel with Minerva) and that he deserved at least one night in which he felt free.